


knock a man to his knees

by lodessa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Love Confessions, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:18:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/pseuds/lodessa
Summary: Daenerys is going to a 70s themed party and entreats Jorah to teach her some era appropriate dance moves.  If he didn't know better, he'd think she had a hidden agenda. (Modern PWP)





	knock a man to his knees

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on Tumblr asked for a fic involving Dany and Jorah "dancing to some 70s jam in my living room". I tried to write some harmless fluff, I really did, but the smut writing urge took over and I couldn't stop myself. Hopefully you like smut, anon. You said you liked my writing so I figure it is likely.

“That’s not even remotely how it goes,” Jorah shakes his head at Daenerys’ cheesy dance move attempt to an even cheesier song, though the truth is that she could do just about anything and she’d still be the most stunning and breathtaking person in any room she enters.

“Why don’t you come over here and show me how it’s done then, since you’re the one who actually lived through when it was popular?” she invites, putting her hands on her hips.

She makes the mini dress and pleather platform boots look good, he has to admit, though it is a style he’d hoped never to see come back round again.

“Fine,” he says, getting up from the couch and walking over to her. “The first thing is that you have the relationship between your arm and hip movements backwards.”

“How so?” she asks.

“Like this,” he offers, putting one hand on her right hip and the other on her left arm. “See you are meant to be bringing them together and then pulling them apart, not having one follow the direction of the other.”

She’s very close. He can smell her perfume and feel the heat radiating off her skin.

“Oh,” she smiles as he guides her moment a few times before letting go, “I see.”

“I mean, if you want to be historically accurate that is.”

“You’re not historically accurate,” she points out with a playful grin, reaching out and undoing the top few buttons on his shirt.

“I’m not the one going to the 70s themed party,” he swallows, trying very hard not to react to how close she is, and the fact that she’s partially undressing him.

“You could,” she suggests. Part of him wants to say yes, but then he’ll just end up spending the night nursing a lukewarm beer and trying futilely not to stare jealously at her on the dancefloor with younger, stupider, men. 

“No one wants some old guy at this kind of party.”

“I want you there,” she tells him, and he tries not to read into that more than the friendship she intends. 

“I don’t think I could pull off bell bottoms these days, any more than this half open shirt.”

“I don’t know about that,” she tells him, grabbing a hold of the front of his shirt. “I happen to disagree with your assessment about the shirt.”

“You know,” he tells her, swallowing deeply as he struggles not to react to the flirtatiousness he knows can’t be serious. “You also are off sync with the music.” 

Daenerys. Beautiful, willful, kind, gorgeous, young Daenerys. Daenerys who has become his whole world. She can’t realize how she torments him with her playful ease. She’s not cruel like that.

“Show me,” she urges him again, giggling.

He does with a sigh, thinking it is a good way to end a conversation that has turned in a direction he knows better than to trust.

For a moment it works too: Daenerys mirroring his movements, both of them grinning and laughing. But then the song changes, suddenly going slow and romantic, and they both stand here for a moment in perfect stillness.

She reaches out slowly and with her forefinger traces a line down from his collarbone down the center of his torso, flicking one more button of his shirt open and then moving her hand back up to lay her palm against his mostly exposed chest.

“Dance with me,” she tells him, and he can’t refuse, taking her free hand in his and raising it beside them, elbows down, hands raised as their fingers intertwine.

She gazes up at him and he wonders what she sees written on his face. Whatever it is doesn’t seem to dissuade her, as she steps closer in towards him, her thumb tracing circles as her hand stays pressed against his skin. 

They sway gently to the music and Jorah carefully moves his free hand to her waist, reminded as always, of how small and delicate she is.

At that, she seems to relax, eliminating the remaining space between them so her head rests against his shoulder. 

The music seems to last both a mere moment and a virtual eternity, as they silently move together in the middle of the living room floor. 

Then just as suddenly it ends, the next track startlingly loud. 

“You’re going to be late,” he tells her, as he releases her and she steps back away from him. 

She’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen and he longs so desperately to pull her back into his arms, for real this time, and kiss her. He knows better.

“Jorah,” she says, and he watches her breath catch slightly.

“Daenerys,” he breathes, hardly daring to say her name.

“I don’t want to go to this stupid party,” she tells him.

“Then don’t,” he replies. 

“I want…” She hesitates, biting her lip. “I want you to kiss me.”

So he does, intending to do so softly, a mere press of his lips so hers, but unable to hold back in the face of such temptation as she opens her mouth to him, tongue searching for his. Her hands are in his hair and his have found their way around her waist and across her back.

“Jorah,” she murmurs against his lips, “I want you. I want you to make love to me. I want you so much it hurts.”

And with the way she says it, the way she’s clinging to him, the way she just kissed him back, Jorah cannot doubt that it is the truth, as impossible as he thought it was before. 

Then she’s kissing him again and her hands are undoing the last of the buttons of his shirt and untucking it from his waistband and pushing it over off his shoulders. 

He lifts her up, hands on her hips, and she wraps her legs around him, skirt bunching up and leaving only what he can now feel are damp lace underwear pressed up against his stomach between them.

In the last five years, he’s never succumbed to the fantasy that she could want him like this, not believing it instead of wishing it. But the proof is in front of him now and suddenly all the little signs he dismissed seem overwhelming evidence.

“I will,” he promises her, blindly moving backwards. “There’s nothing I want more.”

The back of his legs hit the couch and he sits down onto it, Daenerys on his lap as he moves one of his hands to the zipper of her dress to tug it down, the other caressing down her spine as he exposes more of it.

She lifts her arms up so he can pull the dress off over her head and for a moment he just stares at her, something out of a fantasy in a matching red lace lingerie set that accentuates her perfect pale skin. He’s imagined her so many times, but this is better than any fantasy.

He reaches down and touches her through the lace, thumb finding her clit as he leans in and kisses her beautiful neck. She presses into the contact with a low moan, hands gripping his shoulders.

There are so many ways he wants to have her, so many ways he wants her to come undone for him, that it is hard to decide where to start, but from the way she’s rubbing herself against his hand he can feel her urgency. 

He slips his hand under the lace, from the slide, feeling her slick and swollen with arousal. He kisses across her breasts and then, as he drags his fingers between her lower lips and back towards her clit, he tongues her nipple through the lace, feeling it stiffen in response and the rush fresh of moisture running down his fingers as he sucks lightly.

“How long?” he can’t help asking, as he switches to her other breast with his mouth through her bra.

“I’m not sure,” she groans, one of her hands moving to the back of his head and pressing it closer. “It’s been coming on so gradually, it’s hard to pinpoint when it began.”

He slowly circles his fingertip against her clit, touch light, and she shudders, hips pressing closer, a little whimper coming from her. He supposes it doesn’t matter when it started, only that she wants him now.

She guides his face back to hers, kissing him hungrily as her hand moves to his inside her underwear, directing him to press a finger inside of her, squeezing eagerly around it as he does. 

He runs his free hand down her spine and then her thigh, as he curls the finger within her against her front wall and she moans into his mouth. 

It wouldn’t take much he realizes, not much at all to send her over the edge right now. But is that how he wants it to go, the first (not last he prays) time she comes for him. Does he really want it to be on his fingers and not even fully undressed? 

There’s a certain beauty to that, the urgency and desperation of it, and maybe after that he could take a minute and backtrack, proceed more slowly in a manner befitting the phrase “making love” (and he does want to… he wants to make love to her properly and with every bit of care and thoroughness). 

But, at the same time, does he want to waste all the pent up longing, that intensity of need, or his hand? Not that he thinks she won’t want more (Daenerys has never done anything in half measures), but there’s something about the first time when you finally get there with someone you’ve been waiting to, that’s special, different.

“Should I keep going?” he asks her, realizing that’s really what he wants to know: how best to fulfill her desires. “Or should I-”

“I want you,” she groans, reaching down and tracing his erection through his pants with her hand. “I want you inside of me, want to feel the weight of you on me.”

He takes the hand that was on her thigh and moves it to unclasp her bra, spreading his hand across her back before he moves to flip them over as he turns them sideways, so she’s under him, lying lengthwise across the couch, and he’s kneeling between her thighs, with his finger still pressed into her and thumb against her clit. 

Regretfully withdrawing both hands, he finished removing her bra, moving his hands to her bare breasts for a moment to cup and massage them slightly, feeling them soft and firm and perfect in his grasp.

She fumbles with the buckle of his belt and then the button to his pants, unzipping them with trembling hands and then moving to drag them down. She gets both layers about halfway down his thighs before she can’t reach any further and decides that she will just grab his ass with one hand and his cock in the other and Jorah knows that now he’s the one in danger of being quickly overcome, and that’s a much worse danger.

He slides his hands and mouth downwards, slipping from her grip as his fingers hook into her underwear and pull them down her shapely legs with the assistance of her lifting her hips. He moves to bury his head between her thighs, but she tugs him up her body, and he shimmies as best he can free of the last of his clothing, though it remains bunched around one ankle, as she lets one of her legs slip off the edge of the couch at the same time as she moves both of her hands to his backside now and pulls him down against her.

“Now,” she urges, using the leverage of the foot that’s now on the ground, to arch a little up off the couch.

His eyes stay locked on hers as he pushes into her. She moans his name and he is already in love with how vocal she is like this. His chest presses against hers, and he buries himself as far into her as he can, and her hands are still both gripping him.

He kisses her again, as he slowly pulls his hips back just enough to have room to push back in, but not enough to lose her.

“Jorah,” she shudders, squeezing and arching into him, she wraps the leg still on the couch around his waist and draws him back into her more deeply. 

“Better?” he asks, one hand gripping the couch to avoid crushing her, and the other cupping her cheek, as he takes her slowly, despite the impulse within to make her scream his name instead or moaning it.

In response she tilts her hips slightly and one of her hands moves to his shoulder and it might be his name or it might be a yes that she attempts to say, but it comes out incoherent either way, as he clearly hits the right spot inside her, at the same time her clit rubs against his pelvic bone. 

“I love you,” he confesses, with his next thrust, though there’s no way she doesn’t already know. “I love you with everything that I am, Daenerys.”

And that’s how she orgasms around him for the first time, clinging to him as he gives her his body but also all that is within him. 

He kisses her as she does, continuing to slowly rock within her as she peaks and then begins to come back down, until she stops shaking and relaxes around him. 

He wants to stay buried inside he. He wants to keep taking her until he spills inside of her. (Though it probably would not as long as he might wish given how long its been and how good it feels to finally have her… be had by her). But more than anything else he wants to make sure she doesn’t for a moment question the wisdom of having taken this step, having invited him into her arms.

His own satisfaction can wait.

Daenerys’ little whimper of displeasure as he pulls out of her echoes his own feeling in doing so, but he resists the urge to sink back into her welcoming heat. Later, he promises himself. 

He slips off the couch to kneel on the floor in front of her, kissing up her leg and then inwards. 

“I promised to make love to you,” he murmurs against her skin, before moving in to taste her at last. “And I take my promises very seriously.”

When she realizes where he’s headed, she pushes herself up, lifting her leg over his head as she sits forward on the couch so her legs are on either side of him and she’s completely exposed to his waiting mouth.

He starts with broad upward strokes of his tongue, nothing too complicated or intense for her clit, which he can tell must still be oversensitive, from how her legs still tremble as he brushes his thumbs against her inner thighs. 

It isn’t until she starts to press up into his mouth, going from sounds that sound like a low purr to more obvious moans, that he changes approaches, using the tip of his tongue to circle her clit and then closing his lips around it and sucking.

She throws her head back as her whole body arches in enjoyment, truly the most beautiful sight in the whole world, with her flushed face and chest and the complete sense of abandon with which she grinds against his face. 

Her legs wrap around his head, ankles crossing behind his neck and he loved her when he thought such a thing could never be possible and now that he finds it is he feels like his heart might burst. 

“Come for me,” he implores, moving one hand from her thigh to slip a finger inside of her, and she makes a mewling noise and grabs onto his shoulder with one hand as the other grips the couch as he resumes his attention to her clit.

She lets out a little shriek as she starts to peak, which gets louder as he pushes a second finger inside of her at the same time he sucks harder at her clit and her legs squeeze around his head so tightly he thinks he’s going to perish from lack of air, but that there could be no more perfect way to go.

He soothes her way back down, with slow presses of his tongue and curling of the fingers within her. 

He is confident in his knowledge that this is a realm where he has no fear of being outperformed by a younger man. Jorah has plenty of experience to build on in how to pleasure a woman with his mouth, and that’s not a skill you can pick up in a day. Nor is Daenerys a woman who seems to need coaching in being convinced to relax and enjoy it or let her desires be known.

“My turn,” she tells him though, as he moves to begin building her back up, moving her hands to his chest and pushing him to sit back on his legs. 

Her stare is intense as she looks him over and then moves off the couch herself and down onto his lap, one of her hands reaching down to guide him inside of her as she sinks down in one fluid motion.

“You asked me long long it has been, that I’ve wanted you,” she tells him, as she wraps her arms around his neck, bringing their bodies into full contact as she circles her hips around him.

“Before our big fight?” he asks, wondering now if he misread her rage at the time, if it wasn’t that she was uncomfortable that he wanted her because she didn’t feel the same way, but because she did.

“Earlier,” she confirms, rocking more strongly over him.

“Oh,” he realizes, “You weren’t just intoxicated that night.”

“I wasn’t,” she admits, arching her body as she rides him in earnest now. “I lied to myself and convinced myself it was just the alcohol, but it wasn’t.”

He doesn’t dare ask further back than that, instead of running his hands over her skin as he kisses her neck and shoulders, feeling her squeeze around him as she takes him without restraint or hesitation.

“Sometimes.” She raises his face back up to look him in the eyes, as she starts to tremble again. “Sometimes back when I was still with Drogo, I would close my eyes and imagine you like this. Imagine you’d look at me exactly how you are now, imagine how your hands would feel all over my body, instead of just on my hand or supporting the small of my back with clothing between us.”

That’s the moment where Jorah realizes that he doesn’t have to prove anything to her, that she’s not about to slip from his grasp again, that this isn’t a passing impulse he has to seize before it disappears. 

“The reality is better,” she whispers against his lips as she kisses him again, and he has no idea how his most desperate and impossible dream has come true but it has. 

She is right, though. The reality is better. As she lays claim to him with her body and her words, Jorah loses himself in her: in the way she feels and sounds, the way she tastes and smells. 

“I love you too,” she murmurs, breath ragged. “I love you for everything that you are.”

That drives him over the edge, as much as the grip she has around him or the pace at which she is moving. 

He sees her react as the first rush of his orgasm flows from him, feels her clench in response, hears her cry out. All of it makes him feel wanted, makes him feel powerful, makes the experience more intense. 

He’s imagined it a thousand times over, and yet nothing could have prepared him for this. Daenerys loves him, she wants him, and she’s reaching an orgasm at the feeling of him finishing inside of her for the first time. 

He’s never been as satiated in his life.


End file.
